


Innocence and Experience

by IrishGirl490



Category: Tarzan (TV 2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 17:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10621917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishGirl490/pseuds/IrishGirl490
Summary: Working on some what-might've-been scenarios from the 2003 TV series. Begins in Episode 6





	

S01E06

When John was hurt from his confrontation with the police, his Aunt and Jane had to take him to a Doctor in the middle of the night… Jane remains by his side for a bit longer.

 

“I’m gonna come check up on you first thing in the morning ok?”

John’s mercurial eyes shifted uneasily.

“John…” Jane’s voice was soft apprehension over tense steel. “Promise me, you’ll stay here tonight.”

Again, John’s eyes flickered. She knew, she knew what she was asking was going against his very nature, how difficult it was for him to stay in one place for any amount of time. No doubt having lived wildly by his own terms had made him that way and his own uncle’s imprisonment hadn’t helped matters. The 4 walls of a room were no different than the iron bars of a jail cell to John. But she needed him safe, she needed to know where he was every minute, especially now when his uncle’s agents were without a doubt scouring every inch of the city, not to mention how many cops were probably on the case.

“I promise,” he whispered gingerly. 

Jane slumped in relief, bowing her head at his concession, she knew it cost him.

John reached out his hand, stroking her cheek and neck in that unique way of his; feather light, and with the back of his knuckles. His fingers tunneled into her hair, tugging softly. Jane tried her best not to react to this imploring touch, he always seemed to reach out to her this way. Little touches here and there that said everything he didn’t know how to say with words. Always reaching out for her, and always with that serene smile of simple satisfaction. This time, though, his brow puckered in concentration as he tilted her chin back up to observe her face.

“You’re tired.” His voice was low and quiet, but it rang with admonishment. “You should sleep.” Now he tried to coax her, seeming tender and concerned, but also mischievous as one side of his mouth curved upwards in a shadow of his playful grin. 

Her hand came up to his forearm, rubbing softly to alleviate his worry and to subtly placate her need to touch him. 

“I’m fine.” HIs eyes said he didn’t believe her, and he continued to stare at her. She wondered what it was that he saw that seemed to captivate him; he spent a lot of their time together staring at her, utterly focused and intent. She wondered what was going through that incredible mind of his.

“John,” she leaned closer, her arms wrapping around his in a delicate enclosure. “I’m not gonna quit on this, alright? I’m gonna keep fighting.” For you, she added silently. His young face was unusually solemn and she wished it wasn’t. “Let me try and save you for once, huh?” His lips quirked with amusement. She ducked her head again, she’d already shown too much, said too much without saying anything. It always seemed to happen this way, her feelings running away from her without her say, escaping without her notice. She’d never felt so out of control within her own skin, but at the same time felt such peace; it bewildered her, frightened her. Jane didn’t handle emotions well enough as it is, and when it came to John, there were always too many to sift through. 

“Good night.” She began to extricate herself from him, but his hand grasped hers agilely, weaving his fingers between her own with startling dexterity. Her eyes jerked up to meet his own, and that was her second mistake. His eyes held so much within them, and it inevitably broke her down bit by bit to look into their turbulent depths. They glowed with impatience and inquiry.

“Stay.” From anyone else, the one word would’ve seemed like a demand, something that would have scraped against her raw nerves and made her react indignantly. From John, it was a request and a plea, a question and a prayer. He was reaching out to her, as he always did; for comfort, for connection, for warmth and happiness, or reassurance. So many things he couldn’t communicate with words, but seemed to do so effortlessly with his touch. 

It broke her, burned her … revived her.

“I can’t.” The words that fell from her trembling lips were crippled with anxiety and anguish. She hated herself. Hated her own weakness and cowardice, as she watched the glow in his eyes fade and his expression fall from fervent hope to subdued longing. The guilt corroded her inside like acid; guilt for Michael’s death, guilt from being attracted to John, guilt from pushing him back and keeping him at a distance, guilt for dragging Sam into her mess, and most of all, guilt because she felt more alive and incandescent with John than she ever did with Michael. More alive, more sexy, more capable, she just …. She felt so much MORE everything.

She tugged her hand from John’s, forcing herself to back away from him, watching as his eyes tracked her movement. She read in his face the frustration he held at bay, frustration from her rejection and because he wanted to follow her, but his injured leg wouldn’t allow him to. She was always running from him, from them, and he couldn’t understand why. 

John clenched his jaw against begging, but the words continued to slip through his lips without his permission.

“Please.”

Jane’s backward retreat halted. Her eyes were wide and she struggled internally against what she knew to be right and what she really wanted. In the end, it was John who made the decision for her, not by any action on his part but because of his face. 

Jane studied the expression on John's face. The strained outline of his jaw, the flex of his neck, and the narrowing of his eyes all suggested the inner turmoil he also faced. She could imagine what it must be like for him, and never even come close to what he was actually feeling. In all actuality, there probably wasn't much having to do with john Clayton that she would ever fully understand. But then again, no one person in the world existed that could. John had struggled through enormous tragedy and loss, in addition to imprisonment and persecution. Few people in the world could even go through a fraction what he had experienced at such a young age, and still, come out as compassionate and pure as John was. Maybe no one could; perhaps that was why he was so special. 

Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to him.

He obviously wanted her to stay, but the dismay on his face as she denied him once again dismayed her on a level she didn't foresee. He wanted her to stay but didn't mean to ask. Didn't want to ask; in fact, seemed dismayed with himself that he continued to entreat her to stay. Jane was a cop, she read people for a living, but John had always been difficult to understand. She had first thought he was frustrated with her, that would've been an acceptable theory; had it not been for the trembling supplication of his own hand that reached for her. He didn't pull his hand away or make a fist, didn't purse his lips or grind his teeth as one would in anger or frustration. Instead, the line of his jaw seemed proud even has his eyes glistened with hurt and his fingers fluttered nervously. He wasn't angry with her, and he wasn't pouting. He knew the chances that she would leave him were high, but he asked anyway. Because that was who he was. Even if it was going to hurt him in the long run, he was going to be honest. Honest about what he wanted and what he felt, despite all indications that he would be forsaken. 

That kind of strength and vulnerability housed within the same man was overwhelming to experience but intoxicating. 

Jane exhaled sharply, closing her eyes against the enigma he presented. Then she turned and left the room.

When she returned minutes later, John laid flat on the exam table, staring at the ceiling. He looked up questioningly as she entered the room.

"Dr. Jaffe has a guest room you can use, and uh," she paused taking in his state of dishevelment. "You're Aunt left you some clothes to change into but you can't bathe with that bandage on, and it's going to be rough trying to change with that injured leg."

John continued to stare at Jane inquisitively, cocking his head to one side in question.

"I'm not spending the night," Jane stated in a strident tone. "I'm just gonna stay long enough to get you ready for you to fall asleep, and then I'm going to go home. I have to find a connection to Donald Ingram, and I can't do that here." Even to herself, it sounded like an excuse but she couldn't help it. John always seemed to be blurring the lines she'd drawn between them, and she felt the need to re-establish them every chance she got. She hoped by speaking these thoughts out loud that John would realize her position in their relationship. Not that they had a relationship. They had each other's back in the field, that was comradery. Friendship, maybe. But that was as far as it would go. She'd made that perfectly clear.

John's beaming smile didn't reassure her.


End file.
